


Pose

by Souja



Category: BIRDMEN - 田辺イエロウ | Tanabe Yellow
Genre: Friendship, General, Mostly rambling, We'll pretend this is comedy, based loosely on chapter 29, plot doesn't exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8825896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Souja/pseuds/Souja
Summary: If you kind of squint it seems like a good idea





	

.Pose.

\--

_Strike a pose, Black!_

\--

 

It was quiet after Irene and the Eden Agent left. Save for straggles of visitors to the shrine, the afternoon was turning out uneventful. Well, compared to instigating a bomb threat, a rampant bird-cat person, and wrestling a _live panther_ , which in of itself raised the bar impossibly high. Plus a derailed train according to the Channel 6 news –Takayama had shrugged but supplied no additional details. Karasuma awarded him an awkward mash-up of praise and warning for his efforts, but eventually dropped the topic.

Weird how their lives could go from monotonous to hectic in literal minutes and back again in a heartbeat. Would they ever get used to that sort of genre whiplash?

He hummed. Maybe one day.

From where he perched atop a stack of pillows and futons, Karasuma could see all of the large room. Kamoda sprawled on the tatami. Sagisawa rubbed his lower lip as he reviewed practice problems intent on “getting ahead”. The booklet had been lent to him by Kamoda since prospects of getting their own stuff anytime before tomorrow seemed slim.

“How ahead could you want to be?” he’d asked earlier.

“It wouldn’t hurt, Karasuma-kun~” Sagisawa answered.

“Ah. Maybe Mr. Saitou won’t count homework from today!” Kamoda chirped as he literally wiped dust off the Cultural Sciences text. Karasuma wondered idly when the book had last seen the light of day.  

And then he’d reminded him that his Cul-Sci class was well before the bomb threat had gone off, and _no Kamoda saying you didn’t do it because you sensed the impending bomb threat in the cosmos is not a good excuse when he gave the assignment a week in advance_. Which had prompted a discussion about whether or not it would be viable given his temple kid status. The (begrudging! - Kamoda insisted) consensus was unfavourable of the notion.

Realising he’d lingered too long on Kamoda –who looked closer to dozing off in the afternoon sun than actually attempting any of the prodigal homework– Karasuma shifted his gaze to a speck dark on otherwise cream walls. Takayama had propped himself against the border between theirs and Irene’s room, a silent sentinel as Nehan and Kuu play-attacked the cuffs of the tracksuit he was wearing.

The door behind him remained cracked open a smidge, a single frame into the dark expanse of the other room where “Birdgirl” had once lain. Ignoring previous offenses on his sensibilities, he supposed an entry would have to be made in the Journal. _"Day XX, Year XXXX, we got our asses handed to us by a large cat; also--feline theme? Yes or no?"_. Tatsume, the geezer, would probably want details.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he definitely needed to! It was valuable information! And live information! That had happened to them! There were hypotheses that could have been tested!

He cursed his flustered state of mind for not being clear enough to make notes, cursed his broken phone for not being able to take pictures of the healing process (though likely they’d be put to use in much the same way as those from Kamoda’s poisoning episode). Curse Sagisawa for–

_Eh?_

His train of curses crashed as he caught light-coloured eyes. Sagisawa’s was a dark look, one he couldn’t quite place. A mixture of barely-disguised (purposefully shown) disapproval, a small amount of pity and–-was that _disgust_?

“Hey!” Karasuma squawked, “What’s that look supposed to mean?”

Sagisawa returned to his papers, “I wonder,” Cryptic, but his gaze did not shift from the notebook Kamoda had given him.

Crawling quickly, Karasuma abandoned his futon tower and settled where Sagisawa sat. He peeked in his line of sight, only for curly hair to swish away and obscure his vision. “ _Wha–?_ ” he tried once more on the other side, grinding his teeth only a little.

He was met by curls and  the smell of some kind of ridiculous rich people shampoo.

“Sagisawa,” he seethed, an unspoken command in every syllable.  

A slightly raised eyebrow and Sagisawa ceased writing to look him in the eye. “You’ve been staring at that room for a while now, Karasuma-kun,” he said, and as if to mock him he steepled his hands. Unnerving, that was. Like looking at someone older in a much slighter, sarcastic, curly haired, frame. “A long while.”

The implications dawned on him. “For notes,” Karasuma cried, smacking his hands on the tatami, “I was thinking of taking notes!”

“Is that what they call it these days?”

Karasuma made a noise of disbelief somewhere between a guffaw and a groan and a startled Kamoda sucked in a breath. His snore disrupted and he coughed as he became more lucid. “Waas goin’ oan?” he yawned, sitting up and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Karasuma can’t control his Wild Thing.” Sagisawa supplied, eyes unmoving from their target as he threw daggers at Karasuma’s all too fragile heart. Was this the deadly demon payback? Was he _that_ mad about being snapped at?

“I was taking notes,” Karasuma urged, shielding his heart with all his strength from the malicious onslaught. _“Notes!”_

Kamoda, groggy with a line of dried saliva down the corner of his mouth, placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezed reassuringly, and gave him a look of wisdom and understanding he had absolutely no claim to. “It’s okay, Eichan,” and there was a glint in his eyes as he continued, broad faced and grinning, “I can’t control my Wild Thing either!”

The death blow landed and Karasuma froze in shock.

Sagisawa snorted.

“Who said I _wanted_ to be in that category?!”

Fools! His friends were fools! Karasuma said as much, his hands flailing as he tried to make his point known. Research was different! And he could so control his “Wild Thing!” Oh, he could feel his defensive pose eeking at the corners of his nerves. He wouldn’t last long at this rate. His heart–his poor heart!

Sagisawa tried for incredulous, but his hand only covered so much of his face and the fat of his cheeks puffed with pent up laughter. Kamoda nodded as if listening to the ramblings of a person in confession. Like hell he wanted that kind of enlightenment!

Karasuma was about to counter when a chill drew across his skin. “The girl is–”

“YIPES!” He yelped, careening away from the voice. The footing shifted beneath him and he fell. Ass and ego bruised, Karasuma looked up from the floor at the intruding speaker.

Takayama– birdman and part time kitty scratch post– apparently sought to add “spectre” to his list of qualifications. When had he moved? How had he moved, with two sleepy cats for company? Truly, an awakened Birdman was a terrifying being.

(Takayama, however, was not awakened, which threw his theory for a loop.)

He blinked and continued speaking as Karasuma righted himself, the world upside-down foreign and uncomfortable (or maybe that was the traitorous heat of his disgrace prickling on the skin of his neck), “Blue is wondering if the girl is safe.”

“You can hear her from all the way here?” Sagisawa asked, astounded.

Kamoda gave another smile, eyes sparkling with pride, “To be expected of Takayama!”

Karasuma cradled his chin with his palm, a light burn of embarrassment still present on his cheeks. “If you can, tell her that she’s been taken care of,” a pause, “And tell her to focus on her lessons!” They’d fill her in later that night on the specifics. Knowing the girl was in Eden’s custody once again likely wouldn’t be kind to her nerves, the cherry on a figurative stress-sundae.

Takayama stared, placid. “Right.” he said, taking a seat. Kuu finally released his leg, opting instead to curl up in his lap. Nehan did laps across his calves.

Was that a cat thing? Did all cats just curl up in balls? Was it really that comfortable? And what was the point of scaring the shit out of him when he could just respond directly?

 

–

 

Takayama’s interruption served to change the topic and soon a soft silence crept in and dominated the room. Karasuma busied himself with taking notes _–See, Sagisawa?–_ until Kamoda rose from his apparent slumber.

“Eichan, come help me clean up the other room.”

The brief jolt of stillness from Sagisawa didn’t escape his vision. Neither did the look of wariness Karasuma received.

He returned it with as impish a smile as he could muster, cackling inwardly when Sagisawa jolted once more and dropped the pencil he’d been using. Satisfied, he took his leave, following Kamoda into the dimly lit room.

Kamoda stopped in his tracks. He turned to him, his eyes wide and urgent, _“Eichan,”_ he hissed.

_“Kamoda.”_

_“We’re in a girls room, aren’t we?”_

_“You’re a fool.”_

The need for such fuss was lost on him. The room had been vacated, effectively making it a storage once more. Okay, no it wasn’t. Not until at least a week had passed since she’d been absent from the premises, he knew that. But he also knew that Sagisawa knew that (Probably. That seemed like a Sagisawa thing to know). Which necessitated that he show his mastered control of his Wild Thing, which he totally had.

The blanket she’d rested with had other plans, wrapping around his legs while he was in a daze and catching him off guard. Fall of the day number–three?– was more graceful than its predecessors, and he landed in a spectacular plank.

Takayama clapped from a corner. Karasuma bid adieu to his dignity.  

When the blanket was untangled and the futon rolled once more, he heard Kamoda sigh. “I still don’t get it.” a petulant huff with enviable simplicity, “I mean, Takayama _picked her up!_ I didn’t even look at her for a minute!”

Sagisawa hummed thoughtfully, and Karasuma didn’t doubt he had timed it out so their Irene-exposure amounted to no more than a minute each, “I guess Takayama gives off a kind of stable feeling?” the pencil returned to the crook of his lip as he continued to work.

“Then what’s your excuse?” Karasuma buffed, moving the beddings to a deserted corner.

The tapping ceased. Sagisawa gave him a look of shock then clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes, _“Rude.”_

Karasuma accepted his win nonetheless.

 

–

 

A thought crossed his mind shortly thereafter, “It’s not all that odd to be carried by Takayama,” he muttered absently, “I mean, he’s carried me.”

“Wait, what? When?”

He gazed at Kuu, who swatted at Takayama’s sock-clad feet while he racked his brain for the specific instance, recalling searing pain and the video that prompted the code names with an involuntary cringe, “The second blackout. Remember that?” and a few times since then, during practices and training when he ran his stamina _justalittle_ too low to make it back in one piece.

Sagisawa and Kamoda blinked at each other, eyebrows pursed with concentration. “Wasn’t there that one time with Tsubame-chan, too?” Kamoda gasped, then added quietly, “Takayama’s held two girls AND Eichan. Is this the power of popular guys?” He prattled on in conspiracies, ignoring the very fashionable, very foreign, very popular person beside him.

Karasuma counted it no feat to be carried by Takayama, especially given that he’d not been particularly conscious nor enthusiastic for half of it. It wasn’t as though there’d be a line-up of people at his door to congratulate him if he said, “I’ve been cradled by Takayama Sou on multiple occasions.” Though, perhaps there might be in response to the Birdman doing the same thing. A mental note was made to see how much media damage had been done of late, and he turned his attention back to the chattering duo.

“Are we– _Are we the only ones that haven’t been carried?"_

Sagisawa cast a scandalized glance at Takayama.

_"Favouritism."_

Nehan purred in her sleep.

 

–

 

A great wrong had been committed (said Sagisawa) and needed to be put to right (said Kamoda).

You’re both fools (said Karasuma, but he followed them to the Sagisawa’s mansion-tower anyway).

They waited till a the blanket of night when the likelihood of interruption was at its lowest and transformed once the sun was safely out of sight. Takayama was instructed to stay in the middle of the Helipad “H” and await their movements. He did so, arms crossed and wings tugged slightly by passing winds.

“Me first! Me first!” Kamoda sang happily, stretching his body this way and that. He clapped his shoulder, then the next, then his thighs. A stream of steam escaped his nostrils and disappeared into the night sky.

Karasuma watched from the top of the shack, Sagisawa and their newly-retrieved schoolbags beside him. He had the utmost faith that Takayama could catch the boy, but less so that Kamoda would actually successfully not hurt himself.

“Is this necessary?” He drawled, his hair mussed by playful winds. Really, it wasn’t that big a deal. Lots of people hadn’t been carried by Takayama--a good majority even!

Sagisawa blinked up at the moonless sky, “Well if he could tear open a train door, I think he can carry Kamoda,” he mused, answering exactly none of Karasuma’s questions.

The non-committal noise he made filled the silence in place of the proper response he lacked, and Karasuma turned back to the task at hand, “Takayama, are you ready?” he called.

Takayama raised a thumbs up, eyes perpetually half lidded.

“Kamoda?”

An overly-excited noise between a croon and a whoop resounded from the boy, and Karasuma took it to mean “Yes Eishi, I’m ready.”

_Just being carried is boring, Eichan. He said._

_We need to make it fun! He said._

_I know what I’m doing, he said._

He sprinted forward, took off with a powerful kick.

And then he _landed it_.

Sagisawa gasped before erupting in a flurry of cheers. Karasuma’s jaw hung slightly ajar as he took in the image. Kamoda balanced on one hand, propped up by Takayama’s two. Their stillness painted a mural in his mind of a bizarre statue on a city light backdrop.

And then Kamoda’s wings spasmed, his balance faltered, and with a thunderous _whump_ he became acquaintances with the concrete landing pad. Karasuma cringed at the sympathy pains darting through his wings.

But Kamoda’s laughter, infectious and brazen, returned soon after they ceased wincing at the sound he’d made and the bruise that had inevitably healed. “So this is how it feels!” he yipped, pleasure dyeing his cheeks a shade of crimson. The air around him was alive with puffs of pale steam. Karasuma breathed softly as Takayama stooped to help Kamoda up.

He turned to face his co-captain. “Sagisawa, this really isn’t–.”

But the comment on safety died on his lips. Sagisawa gleaned at him, a ridiculous smile messy across his face. His eyes were wide, ecstatic.

“Me next.”  

 

–

 

Sagisawa geared up in much the same way, minus the preparatory slapping of body parts.

“Why _did_ you do that?” Karasuma asked, peeking to where Kamoda sat, dangling his legs over the ledge.

Kamoda blinked, and then his gaze sharpened, “I was preparing myself mentally.” he said, sounding so proud of himself it bordered on infuriating.

The retort he had planned was put on hold as Sagisawa began to take running steps. They watched as he sped up _faster_ and _faster,_ till the gap between them was all but gone. And then he jumped, catching a stray gully in his wings. He spun slowly as he glided down, landing en pointe with outstretched arms.

Kamoda glared and Karasuma clicked his tongue.

 _Showoff_.  

 

—

 

Lessons seemed to drag _on_ once she returned to class, and Umino was grateful for every moment that wasn’t spent in the suffocating classroom. She hurried down the street, bag in hand, late as usual.

Nohara-san and her flowerprint clothing greeted her with a wave once she passed the threshold of the large building. They traded pleasantries, and the elder ushered her up to Rei’s level with a grin. Nice lady she was.

Umino rocked on the balls of her heels as the elevator _ping-ping-pinged_ to her desired floor. Flying, although faster, would’ve definitely drawn attention. That’s what Karasuma would say.

Though, it’d be pretty funny to see articles reporting on Birdmen in convenience stores. _What brands do Birdmen drink?_ They'd say, with a picture of probably-Rei in dead centre. Or maybe they'd be lucky and get a rare shot of _Karasuma_. She tucked the thought away with a giggle.

She hummed in time to the elevator music, her head bopping lightly to the beat. She had drinks for Karasuma, Rei, and Kamoda, had picked the ones they tended towards most often (pokari for Karasuma and Kamoda, an iced tea for Rei). For Takayama she’d picked an energy drink that he might've liked, maybe. It was hard to tell when he rarely showed a preference. At the bottom of the bag was her drink and a strawberry milk for their new sleeping...Comrade? She didn’t know much about the Eden agent that had attacked them, but cats liked milk, right?

She transformed in the cover of the stairway, removing only her nighttime sweater and allowing the wingmass to stretch to her form as she scaled the steps to their secret meeting place.

The door crashed open before she gave her greeting. The drinks she’d bought to placate them jingled in the plastic bag. She used the doorknob to stable herself, her feet an awkward inbetween of talons and toes.

“Hey guys sorry I’m–”

Umino’s features blanked for a moment as her eyes darted at the spectacle. The words died on her lips and her fingers curled in confusion.

Kamoda upright on Takayama’s outstretched arm. A makeshift _Pieta_ of Sagisawa and Karasuma balanced on his wings. The crisp wind blew, her friends illuminated by the sights and sounds of a sleeping Tokyo.

Her smile dropped and she cocked her head.

“Ah.”  she said.

“Ah.” they repeated.  

They did not hold that pose.

 

.

 

**Author's Note:**

> : P


End file.
